by Robin Blake
‘We will have to take the pig home with us,’ Fidelis said.
Chapter 11
BY THE TIME Wigan was ten miles behind us we had given up hope of meeting Spungeon on the road and begun discussing what to do with Henrietta once we’d arrived in Preston. So, naturally, it was at this point that our man came into view ahead, walking in the same direction as ourselves. We drew alongside him, and saw that he proceeded with his head down and feet dragging, as if dejected. I concluded he was missing his pet – a humour that was about to change, for Fidelis now took hold of the sack that he carried and swung it down to him.
‘Here, Spungeon, my friend!’ he called, startling the fellow out of his reverie. ‘A gift from Wigan, and it’s not made of cannel coal.’
Spungeon grasped the sack, lowered it to the ground and began to open it. But we did not wait to see the result of Fidelis’s good work. By the time the sleepy Henrietta was revealed to her master, we had kicked our horses on and it wasn’t until we had forged some way ahead that a burst of joyful hosannahs rang out behind us. As these faded, Fidelis’s mind reverted to the subject of Kathy’s testimony, which I had related to him first on the previous evening, and now a second time, at his request, during this ride.
‘Kathy’s story is striking in respect of Harrod, is it not?’ Fidelis now said, as we came to yet another part of the road where it was necessary to walk the horses. ‘It proves my point entirely.’
‘Your point about what?’
‘About the Stygian depth of Basilius Harrod’s incompetence: not to have seen that Harriet Scroop was with child.’
‘It would, if it’s true that she was. I am reserving judgement on that, for the moment.’
‘Do you know the girl, Harriet Scroop? Is it likely she could have strayed from the virtuous path?’
‘I don’t know her, but Elizabeth might. I will find out.’
* * *
At home, in our parlour, Elizabeth twirled around in excitement after I’d fastened the new necklace in place for the first time.
‘Oh! It’s beautiful, my love,’ she said, turning to the pier-glass and fingering the bright beads. ‘I’ll wear it at Saturday’s Assembly. Everyone will admire it.’
She kissed me and ran into the kitchen to show Matty, whose appreciative cries rang through the house. A few minutes later Elizabeth returned to me, bringing tea.
‘Now tell me, what was so charming about Wigan that made you stay a night away from your loving home?’
She poured my tea and I began to tell her about the excursion, laughing about Henrietta, wondering at the mystery of the burning well and growing serious over my conversation with Kathy Brock.
‘She claimed that Harriet Scroop was with child? She’s only a child herself.’
‘Not exactly. She is old enough, I think.’
‘Just old enough. But is it likely? The girl is so serious, and so close, and not particularly well favoured by nature – in her appearance, I mean. She’s a nervous, inward girl. I’d say she wasn’t spirited enough to speak to a lad, never mind lift her skirts for one.’
‘It happens every day.’
‘Well, I know, but coming from that respectable Bible-reading family, I do find it very hard to believe.’
‘Kathy worked as a maid at the house. She tells me she got to know her young mistress rather well.’
‘But can you believe any of Kathy’s story? She’s likely making all this up about Harriet, to get the attention away from herself.’
* * *
Next morning I went directly to Water Lane meaning to speak to one or both of Harriet Scroop’s parents. I took a special note of the young footman, who had spoken to me superciliously in the previous week, wondering if I could discern in him anything of the character of a seducer. He was not a bad-looking young fellow, but I was no further on with my speculation by the time he showed me into the morning parlour to, as he said, await Mr Scroop’s pleasure.
Going in, I found, to my surprise, that Captain Strawboy was seated at a table under the window, writing busily in a notebook.
‘Captain!’ I said. ‘How do?’
He stood as I came forward and we shook hands. Strawboy was effusively friendly. We had met during his visit to Preston in the previous year, although we did not much know each other.
‘What brings you to this house, Mr Cragg?’
‘A little legal matter, that is all,’ I said.
‘And are you recovered, I hope, after the unfortunate events of last week when the Skeleton Inn was burned? I know you were in the thick of it.’
‘I thank you, Captain. I am quite recovered. Are you also waiting to see Mr Scroop?’
The captain smiled with a degree of complacency.
‘No, I’m fortunate you know in that I already see Mr Scroop at breakfast, dinner and supper.’
‘Ah! You are in residence.’
‘For a few days only, on this occasion. With Mrs Scroop’s new baby, and all the children now returned, the house is in a disturbed condition.’
‘We have inns in town, of course, where you might be more comfortable.’
‘Well, I have been in the army long enough to find inns less pleasant than a billet such as I have now. In family accommodation, one is better fed, I find, and more gratified in every direction. It is also more convenient in this particular instance, as Mr Scroop and I are working together on a project.’
‘Oh? What is that?’
‘Well, to put it briefly, we intend to repair the production of leather in this town. To reform it root and branch. It will of course be necessary to curtail the privileges of those inefficient and indeed scandalous families of tanners who presently work the skin-yard. But I have no doubt the Corporation will be persuaded by our case. The whole trade must be established on a more businesslike footing. It is crying out to be done. I suppose you heard what was found in one of the dye pits the other day?’
‘As a matter of fact that is why I’m—’
‘They are a blot on the town, those people. I say the sooner we extirpate them, the better.’
The door opened and none other than Harriet Scroop came in. She was a round young woman and much as Elizabeth had described: tight around the mouth, rigid about the shoulders, wan about the eyes. There were no apparent signs of her recent alleged dishonour – but then, I thought, what would such signs look like? Harriet did seem a little embarrassed except that this, as I soon perceived, was far from being anything to do with me – I was scarcely acknowledged – but caused by the presence of Strawboy in the room. Harriet blushed when she set eyes on him, put her hand to her lips, then burst out, ‘Oh, Captain Strawboy, let us have your company in the nursery for a game of cards. I would not … only my sisters send me, to ask you kindly to come in and play with us.’
Strawboy smiled indulgently.
‘What are the stakes in this game of cards, Miss Scroop? Do you play high?’
She blushed more deeply.
‘Why, there are no … no stakes, Captain. That you should suggest such a thing!’
‘None at all? That is exceedingly virtuous of you. Good Lord, I never play cards unless it’s for stakes, you know.’
He made this declaration in a firm, though not in an unkind, way.
‘I find the game is empty, you see, if there is nothing to lose, and nothing to win. I would find it lacking, you know, as a … well, as a gun that has no bullet, I suppose.’
‘Oh, then I beg pardon,’ said Harriet, dropping a curtsey. ‘I regret I have disturbed you.’
Seeing she was about to withdraw, I said, ‘Miss Scroop, I have a little business with your father. Do you know where he is? Or I can speak with your mother in his place, if he is not at home.’
‘My mother is with the baby. We have not yet found a nurse, so she is…’
‘I see. Then of course I shall not inconvenience her. And your father?’
At that moment the red-headed footman reappeared. He had the answer to this last que
stion.
‘My master regrets,’ he said, ‘that he is called away on business and cannot see you today.’
I tried to spot anything between the servant and Harriet, but she seemed as indifferent to his presence as he to hers.
I took my leave in some frustration, though my visit had not been entirely wasted, I thought, as I made my way back to my office. I had after all seen Miss Scroop, and I had found out something about her: that she gave every sign of being not unaffected in the presence of Captain Strawboy.
* * *
Furzey was at his writing desk. His smoked voice sounded somewhat better, but his humour did not.
‘I have had no sleep from coughs,’ he told me. ‘I should not be here at work, as I shall certainly make more mistakes than usual in my writing, and have to do it over.’
‘You never make mistakes,’ I said. ‘And I am glad to see you as we must talk about where to reconvene the inquest.’
‘I’m thinking we should hold it in the fire station.’
I laughed.
‘I’ll leave it to your judgement, Furzey. Now, have you copied the Arkwright tenancy agreement yet? I am due to see Mr Arkwright at eleven o’clock.’
So I spent the morning immersed in dull legal work, but my mind would not let go of the puzzle presented to me by Kathy Brock’s statement. In spite of what Elizabeth had said about Harriet Scroop’s timidity, I supposed it was possible she had been with child, though the circumstances were hard to imagine. Even less easy to believe, though, was that she would have been capable of killing the child and dumping it in a pit at the skin-yard. That would seem to me the act of a very different type of young woman: one that was indeed more like Kathy herself.
At dinner Elizabeth suggested we go together to Avenham Walk, as it was a pleasant afternoon. This amenity had been created by the town almost half a century ago, when the land had been purchased and laid out for promenading. Gravelled and guarded by iron rails and within it an avenue of lime trees, it extended southward the length of a spur of land to the south of Fisher Gate and a little below it. At the end of the walk was a matchless view of the south, across the river to the fells in the east and the flat mosslands in the west. Immediately below was the river, and beyond, snaking away directly southward, was the road up which Fidelis and I had travelled only the previous day.
The walk was being enjoyed by a few groups of people, whom we greeted as we met them. One pair of ladies I knew quite well – my client Miss Colley and her neighbour and friend Mrs Bryce.
‘Oh, Mr Cragg!’ exclaimed Miss Colley, her bright eyes shining. ‘How fortunate that I could not attend Thursday’s inquest as I usually do, owing to a slight indisposition. I should never have survived in the fire, you know. I should have been burned to a crisp.’
‘No, Miss Colley,’ I assured her. ‘No one was burned, or not seriously, though it was a close run thing. I hope the accident will not keep you from attending our inquests in future.’
‘Accident, you say?’ said Mrs Bryce. ‘It was no accident, that.’
‘Do you have any information, Mrs Bryce?’ I asked with a bow in her direction. ‘For if so, I should be most grateful if you would speak out.’
Mrs Bryce sniffed.
‘It was more in the nature of the general opinion, Mr Cragg, and what the fellow Clarkson’s been putting about.’
‘I have heard that. He has been to see me, loudly complaining.’
I raised my hat and we passed on, and, reaching the end of the walk, lingered for a few minutes to admire the view.
‘Somewhere in that country roams poor Jasper Spungeon and his Henrietta,’ I said.
Elizabeth laughed merrily.
‘I hope they’re not poor, but prospering,’ she said. ‘I like him very much for his devotion to that animal.’
We turned and, halfway back along the walk, saw Ephraim Grimshaw and Mrs Grimshaw in earnest conversation with a diminutive lady whom I did not at first recognize. Then as they approached nearer to us it struck me.
‘It’s that woman,’ I murmured to Elizabeth. ‘The one that I got out of the fire at the last minute. I must ask how she does.’
I let go of Elizabeth’s arm and darted eagerly forward, not noticing that she was trying to restrain me.
‘Dear lady,’ I said to the stranger, having greeted the Grimshaws and received in reply a barely civil grunt from our former mayor. ‘I hope you remember me. I was fortunate enough to help you the other day out of the fire at the Skeleton Inn.’
The woman’s face was rigid, pained. She sniffed, met my gaze and then jerked her head to the side, saying nothing. I don’t know what I expected: gratitude, perhaps; a friendly look at the very least. I did not expect to be cut dead.
‘That is Lady Rickaby, a widowed sister of Mrs Grimshaw,’ whispered my wife, as the three of them swept past without another word. ‘She has come from Leamington for a few weeks’ stay. I should have mentioned it to you: she’s been complaining all over town about how you treated her.’
‘How I treated her? I recollect that I saved her life.’
Elizabeth was laughing.
‘Dearest, did you cut off her hoops?’
‘Indeed I did. She would have been burned to a crisp else.’
‘Her dignity is gravely affronted.’
‘Because I saw her legs?’
‘And her drawers. She will not forgive you for that, I’m afraid.’
I joined my wife in laughter, putting my arm around her shoulder and hugging her close. Neither of us could have foreseen that, as things would turn out, this was no laughing matter.
* * *
Elizabeth and I parted at the top of Cheapside, where she went home and I hurried into the Moot Hall. Mayor Thwaite was in his business room, standing at a table strewn with a disordered heap of papers and open ledgers. Jack Thwaite, who was now coming to the end of his term of office, was a shoemaker with a considerable trade, though its success depended largely on the acumen of his wife Margaret. Thwaite did not lack cunning but he was unsystematic, hasty in everything and full of bluster. His mayoralty had had little to commend it.
He frowned at me, bunching together his remarkably bushy eyebrows.
‘This is a bad do, Cragg, this unfinished inquest. Very bad. We need to close the matter, which means establishing that the murderess is this girl who’s run off to Wigan. You can’t trust anyone in Wigan. That she went to relatives there puts her guilt beyond question, so people are saying, and I agree. Her mother admitted in your court that she’s a slut. But it seems you cannot do what the people and I require.’
‘No one wishes to conclude the inquest more than myself,’ I said, in a tone that I hoped was conciliatory. ‘It is not yet certain that Kathy Brock killed this baby, though it’s true questions have been raised that need answering.’
‘Then get them answered, Sir.’
‘But first there is the matter of the fire that interrupted the hearing. I fear we have an arsonist in our midst. If I restart the hearing too soon, we may be in danger again.’
‘You have evidence of this arson?’ The tone of his voice lay somewhere between a bark and a growl.
‘Innkeeper Clarkson is convinced it was arson.’
‘That is not evidence. Clarkson’s complaint is known to the whole town by now. He’s even been up and down here with it. I don’t believe him, nobody does. He is a deluded wastrel and a desperate man, who will make any allegation if it saves him from the charge of his own negligence. That is what most likely caused the fire.’
‘So you will not act? You will not investigate?’
‘There is one matter concerning the fire that I will look into, Cragg, and it is not this imaginary arsonist. It touches on your own conduct.’
‘My conduct? How so?’
‘You must know what I am referring to.’
‘I do not.’
‘Lady Rickaby says that you assaulted her. Dishonoured her. She says you took advantage of the circumstance
s, being alone together, and behaved in a manner that must disgust any decent person.’
‘I removed her underskirts.’
‘My God, you admit it!’
‘I had no choice: it was to save her life.’
‘She said you did it out of lascivious and lustful motives.’
I laughed.
‘I don’t know how she knows that. At the time she was unconscious, more or less.’
‘Unconscious! So you admit that, too. And you laugh barefaced at it. You took advantage, Sir. And you shall answer for it. In the next few days you shall receive a summons to present yourself in front of Court Leet. We shall hear from the lady then. And we will decide if you are a fit person to hold public office. That will be all, Mr Cragg.’
* * *
I left Moot Hall with a light heart. The whole thing was absurd to me, and absurdity is always funny, I find. Just as amusing was Furzey’s doom-laden response when, back in the office, I told him of Thwaite’s threat to deprive me of the coronership.
‘It’s been done before,’ he said darkly. ‘In my grandfather’s time.’
‘What? A coroner thrown out of office by the Corporation? They don’t have the power.’
‘We are subject to election every October, are we not?’
‘There’s never been an election, though! No one has ever wanted this job except me, fool that I am.’
‘If the Mayor’s court impeaches you, an election will be called next month, and you will be debarred from standing. Your time as Coroner will be over.’
‘They would not dare. The Lord Lieutenant will refuse to allow it. Lord Derby has always been my protector.’
‘He is a lord, with interests in this town. He will put those interests first, as they all do.’
‘You say it has happened before?’
‘Aye, there was a coroner in the last century, Wilson by name, that killed a man. Murder was not proven but he was disgraced and left the town for ever, I believe.’
‘But this here is a triviality by comparison. Wilson would not have been impeached for doing what I have done, as it was done only to save life – Lady Rickaby’s.’
‘What was an utter triviality a hundred years ago may be an utter gravity now. The weather changes, Mr Cragg.’